Chapter 922: I

She cradles the sketchbook and moves out of the back seat; her ice‑blue, shoulder‑length hair flutters a few times in the hot wind, and her pale‑purple round eyes glance down at the pit's bottom.

Her expression is cool and gentle, showing no obvious emotional swing; the corners of her mouth are slightly pursed, and her lashes cast two faint shadows in the Flame light.

After staring at the scene of Hua beating the Herrscher for a few seconds, she lowers her head to glance at the sketchbook in her arms.

She opens the sketchbook, flips to a blank sheet, lifts her head to look at Hua at the pit's bottom, then lowers it again to stare at the empty paper.

The girl's eyebrows knit once.

"…I can't draw it."

Clearly the scene unfolding at the pit's bottom exceeds her drawing ability.

In a sense, her words carry more weight than all of Kaluoer's screams and all of Kesi Mo's silence.

Heimu stands beside the three, hands in pockets, and after hearing Ge Lei Xiu's words, the corner of her mouth twitches.

Hua continues to pummel the Flame Herrscher; the sound of her fists striking merges into a dense, muffled roar, her shout echoing in the pit, and the Flame bursts apart and reconvenes with each of her punches, repeatedly.

Three Observers stand at the ruin's edge, each sinking into silence in their own way.

The three silences line up quietly in the heat wave by the pit, forming a stark contrast to the storm‑like battle at the pit's bottom.

In the distance, Hua grabs the Herrscher's neck with one hand and lifts it up.

The Flame Herrscher's body now barely shows its original human silhouette; a dark‑red core flickers wildly deep within its chest cavity.

It clutches Hua's wrist with its only remaining hand, trying to sear her skin with Flame, but the fire leaves only a scorch mark that heals before her next punch.

Hua lifts the Herrscher over her head and then slams it down hard.

The ground cracks into a radial fissure network centered on the Herrscher's body, sending shards and sparks scattering in all directions.

Then she grabs it again and smashes it.

Raise, then strike down.

Raise, then strike down.

The movements are simple and brutal, with no superfluous fancy technique.

Kaluoer watches the scene, swallows, and adds a sentence in a very careful tone.

"…So… uh… should we cheer now? Or should we applaud? I think we should applaud. But I think my applause will be drowned out by her punches."

Heimu keeps her hands in her pockets, and her ash‑gray low ponytail sways gently in the distant tremor.

She turns her head to glance at Kaluoer, dark‑purple pupils reflecting the distant orange‑red flames.

Kaluoer's warm golden eyes look pitifully at her, simultaneously conveying "I'm so shocked," "I'm so scared," "My idol turned into a strong woman but she's still my idol," and "Can you explain?"

Heimu locks eyes with her for half a second, then redirects her gaze back to the battlefield at the pit's bottom.

"…Just watching is fine."

A deeper, more muffled boom reverberates from the pit's bottom.

Hua stomps the Flame Herrscher to the ground, raises both fists over her head, and then slams them down together.

The ground quakes violently, exploding a deeper, larger pit centered on the Herrscher's body; the pit's debris is pulverized into fine dust, and ash‑gray powder mingles with orange‑red sparks, rising to form a small mushroom cloud.

The Flame Herrscher's core shatters into dark‑red light fragments between her fingers, which turn to ash‑gray ash before they can even touch the ground.

Then the whole world seems ripped like a canvas torn in half; the sky splits from the exact center above, a massive fissure cutting across the view, and tiny Data Light Dots cascade down its edges. The ruins, flames, and smoke on the ground begin to pixelate, disintegrating block by block into primitive color patches.

Hua's muscular silhouette stands at the very center of the disintegrating world, looking down at her ash‑caked fists, ice‑blue eyes reflecting the shattered sky's mirror image.

Then an unseen hand abruptly pulls away all the color patches, and the world returns to darkness.

Heimu feels as if someone gave her a gentle push from behind.

Her short‑heeled boots strike a smooth, hard surface, producing a crisp clack.

A dim‑green light pours from above, tinting her ash‑gray long hair with an unhealthy pale‑green halo.

She blinks; the dark‑purple pupils contract briefly in the green light, then she quickly scans the surrounding area.

Ditie Yuetai.

Ash‑gray stone frames, with dark‑green light strips set into the seams of walls and ceiling; the light is steady and dim, bathing the platform like a darkroom for developing photographs.

The floor is tiled with neat light‑gray ceramic tiles; several automatic ticket machines are embedded in the wall, their screens black, the ticket slots silently agape.

A yellow tactile guide line runs straight along the platform's edge, disappearing into the tunnel entrances on both sides.

I'm back!

Heimu runs a hand over the back of her head; ash‑gray strands glide through her fingertips, feeling real.

Is that… it?

When Hua's final punch landed, the Painted World finally could no longer hold together.

The sketchbook shattered, the world collapsed, and everyone was flung back to reality.

The whole process was so clean and swift it felt a bit disorienting; within that Painted World it looped back seven or eight times, battling the Plot Kill mechanism with wits—switching panels, revving up, watching Hua beat the Herrscher—only to have the final punch shatter the world, everything return to Return to Origin, without even an ending credit.

It feels a bit anticlimactic.

But Past World Paradise has always been like this; whenever she thinks there should be a grand farewell ceremony or at least a plot summary, reality tosses her back in the simplest way.

Just as Heimu puts that thought aside and prepares to turn and check on the others, her peripheral vision catches a figure.

Sakura stands at the platform's center, a long red‑and‑black blade still gripped in her right hand, the white cherry‑blossom pattern on the blade's side hanging quietly.

Her stance remains that habitual alert posture.

But her expression is off.

Her gray‑purple eyes are at least one notch wider than usual, lips slightly ajar, the calm look replaced by a visage whose worldview has been shattered.

Even the fingers gripping the hilt tremble slightly; for Sakura, a trembling hand holding a blade is probably more absurd than seeing Kesi Mo turn into a giant beast.

"…This."

Sakura only uttered that single word.

She seems to want to say something, but it's stuck in her throat, and all that emerges is a dry, clearly confused sound.

Heimu slowly turned his head, following the direction of Ying's gaze.

She saw Hua.

The figure stood over two meters tall, its body knotted with muscles, casting a three‑dimensional shadow in the dim green light.

The gray‑blue low ponytail still hung behind the broad shoulders, the school uniform still neatly wrapped her massive frame, and the outline of her quadriceps was clearly visible beneath the skirt.

Her expression had already shifted from the cold, Calm look she wore while beating the Herrscher earlier back to her usual quiet, restrained demeanor, her brows slightly furrowed, her ice‑blue eyes filled with confusion as she stared blankly at the surrounding dim green platform.

Heimu didn't stay tense.